


Fifty-fifty

by Nary



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Bisexuality, Drunk Sex, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-16
Updated: 2010-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-08 23:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam learns that Chris is more experienced than he lets on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifty-fifty

Chris and Sam stumble out of the Railway Arms at the same time - well, Nelson strongly suggests it's time they go home so he can close up, and it's usually a good policy to listen to your barman. Sam's drunk, though not as drunk as he'd like to be, not enough to give him unconsciousness tonight. Chris is in worse shape, walking a staggering line like a cartoon wino until he steps slipshod off the kerb and sits down hard. "Walk you home?" Sam offers, worried the DC might wind up dozing in front of a lorry or taking a short, sharp dive into the canal.

Chris looks at him like he's got two heads, which, considering how soused he is, might well appear to be the case. "Don't need an escort," he says stubbornly. "'ll make it just fine." He tries to stand up, but doesn't quite manage it.

"Riiight." Sam helps him up by the elbow and starts steering him down the street. They get to the corner before he realizes he has no idea where Chris lives. "My place," he decides, rather than trying to get directions out of his companion. Chris doesn't object, but he does stop to heave in a dustbin along the way. After that they take it a bit more slowly, but Chris seems to be doing slightly better by the time they reach Sam's flat. At least, he's sobered up enough to know where he is.

"Don't wanna impose," he says, but only a little reluctantly.

"It's nothing," Sam insists, unlocking the door. "I'll fetch you some water, and you'll be right as rain tomorrow."

"The guv has a hangover cure he swears by. I don't know all the ingredients, but one's a raw egg." Chris pales momentarily. "I wish I hadn't thought about that."

Sam hands him the glass of water, and he takes it gratefully, tossing back half of it in a single gulp, then sipping the rest more slowly. Gradually, some colour starts to come back into his face, and he looks less like death warmed over. "I'll be going, then," he says when he's finished it, and suddenly Sam can't face another night alone with the telly and the things that come out of it.

"Stay," he tells Chris - begs him, really. "I'd like you to stay." He tries to think of some explanation he can give that won't make him look foolish, something beyond _I'm afraid_ or _I'm desperate to tell you the truth_. He settles for "please", and Chris looks him in the eye for a long moment and then nods.

"I sort of wondered, boss," Chris says, and Sam doesn't know what he's talking about for a minute. "If you were bent," he elaborates. Even after that, it takes Sam a second or two to realize he's not talking about corruption on the force.

"Oh," says Sam, because he's not sure what else to say.

"I don't mind," Chris continues, in a tone that suggests most would. "The way I see it, everyone's got at least a bit of that in them. Even tough blokes like the guv. Don't tell him I said that," he adds hastily.

Sam nods his sacred oath, knowing Chris would never be telling him this if they were both sober. "What about you, then?"

Chris sort of shrugs. "I like birds too. I guess, um, it probably goes about fifty-fifty."

"Bi?" Chris looks at him blankly. "Like, uh, David Bowie, or Elton John."

Chris laughs at that. "Come off it, boss, Elton John's not a queer."

"Right, of course," Sam agrees, the way he's learned to do whenever he puts his stupid time-travelling foot in his stupid time-travelling mouth.

"Anyway," Chris continues, "everyone knows you're chasing after Annie, so you've done a good job keeping it quiet so far. I mean, you know the sort of shit that would happen if some folks found out." Sam can imagine, in vivid detail, what Gene would say, Gene with his jokes about pillow-biters and uphill gardeners. Ray would be worse. Ray'd leave a homo to die if he thought he could get away with it. It's only been a few years since it was decriminalized, and Gene and Ray are both old enough to have busted gays just for being too obvious...

Sam pushes that thought away for the moment, pulls himself back to the now. "I haven't been with a guy since I was twenty-two," he says, which is true. He doesn't mention it was only once, and mostly just to prove to himself how open-minded he was, because he was twenty-two and a prat.

"Blimey," Chris says, wide-eyed, "I'm amazed you don't explode." And before Sam can mention that actually there've been several women since then, he's down on his knees, working at the buckle of Sam's belt. Sam knows he should stop him, but he doesn't - even helps him with the fly, for fuck's sake - and Chris's hand finds him half-hard and swelling, despite the number of pints he's had tonight.

"This good, boss?" Chris asks shyly, fingers curled around Sam's cock, and Sam's stomach does a fretful, sinking thing, but he nods.

"Just... don't call me boss right now," he manages to get out before Chris's mouth closes over him and he's getting the best damn blowjob he's had in ages. It's clear Chris knows what he's doing, knows just how to work his tongue and hand and lips together to make Sam groan and slip down in his chair a little further, legs spreading as wide as the trousers still around his ankles will let him.

"Jesus…Christ," he gasps, feeling the heat, the smouldering tension, building in his balls. Chris is cupping them in his other hand, just teasing them lightly, but it's enough to drive Sam wild, making him thrust up with his hips without meaning to. Chris takes the extra length without blinking, even sucks him faster, looking up at him with those puppy-dog eyes all the while.

Sam's fists clench as he tries to hold on, but tonight it's not going to last long, especially not when Chris takes one spit-slick finger and slides it against his arse, pressing into him slowly and carefully. He has a moment to think how amazing it is that Chris is so deft at this when he's so clumsy at nearly everything else, and then that finger inside him crooks at just the right angle and he's coming into his DC's eager mouth, which is wrong on just about every level, and yet he can't stop himself from doing it, too late now to take it back even if he'd wanted to.

Chris swallows, looking so bloody pleased with himself, and draws back, though he keeps a hand on Sam's thigh. "Better, b… Sam?" It might be the first time he's used Sam's name.

"Incredible." Sam realizes he ought to repay the favour if this is going to be anything other than him using Chris for a bit of comfort, but finds he's oddly nervous about the idea. "Do you, uh, want me to..."

"You don't have to blow me if you don't want," Chris says, and Sam feels an utter bastard for being unable to hide his uncertainty. He feels much better, though, when Chris smiles crookedly and adds, "I'd much rather fuck you, if you're up for it." Sam doesn't even mind when, about twenty minutes later, they finally break his piece-of-shit bed.


End file.
